Hiatus
by Lo613
Summary: It takes him three years to say it. Rated for slight language.


**Man, I am on a roll with the angsty Doctor Who fanfics as of late. Anyways, I hope this is fairly obvious, but in case it's not, scenes from this take place during and directly after 'Fathers Day', 'The Christmas Invasion', and 'Gridlock.' Enjoy! Disclaimer- Is there stock for Doctor Who? I think that would get rid of an awful lot of disclaimers.**

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It takes him three years to say it. Three entire years. Three years of his life, dictated by the all consuming fear that the word induced inside of him. Horrific images of war and destruction and entire worlds burning; All the result of him saying it.

At first, back in his Ninth regeneration, when he was all big ears and leather jackets, he barely even noticed that he didn't say it, that he always referred to it as 'My planet', instead of its actual title. Probably because he rarely even said 'My planet', regardless of how conscious the decision was. The first time he properly noticed it was when he'd taken Rose back to see her father. She'd been going on about saving her father and something inside of him had snapped, and he'd near yelled at her about wanting to save his planet. After that, the words had rang in his ears.

_'My planet'_

The most powerful race of people, the most fantastic planet, the treasure of Kasterborus, reduced to two words, spoken by a fool.

And still, even after he realizes this, he refuses to say it. It's too soon after the War to say it.

It will always be too soon after the War to say it.

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. . . .

He regenerates. Which takes some adjustment, but he saves Rose and his new body is nice, so it's not too bad.

He saves the Earth on Christmas and soon after that he and Rose are on their merry way, gallivanting through the stars, not a care in the world.

On a rare quiet moment, not long after he regenerated, two days at most, he's performing maintenance to the TARDIS when he's suddenly struck by an intense waning to say it. He hasn't tried to, not yet.

He wonders if this body can manage it.

He realizes that he hasn't done anything to the TARDIS in a few moments as he's been preoccupied, and pulls himself from underneath the mess of wires that he'd been working on, leaning against the console instead. His thoughts are everywhere at once, always, however, reverting back to the word.

Breathing slightly unevenly, beginning to sweat the slightest bit, he opens his mouth, focusing every ounce of will power he posses into this one thing.

"..."

Nothing. Nothing happens. He still can't say it. He starts to, but it gets caught somewhere in his throat, never forming into a word.

He takes a shuddering gulp of air and stood up abruptly, spinning around to face the TARDIS console, slamming both fists into it, and swore loudly. A few deep breaths later his lips twisted into a bitter smile, and he takes a couple of steps back from the controls. Of course he can't say it; He'd been a fool to think that he could. If his last body, tough and hard, hadn't been able to do it, then this body, being more open, exposed, and if he was honest with himself also more emotional and broken as well, could never manage such a thing.

The thought struck him again;

_'Too soon after the War.'_

He didn't want for it to be too soon after the War. He wants to be able to say t.

He considers hitting the console again, but ultimately decides against it, reserving himself back to repairs again.

Always fixing things.

His penance.

If only he could apply it to himself.

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. . . .

He loses Rose, and half way finds her again. He meets Donna Noble who turns down his offer of companionship, and then he meets Martha Jones who does quite the opposite and jumps at the chance.

It's been three years since the War and he still hasn't brought himself to saying it.

He's starting to think he'll never be able to.

But for a change that's not what he's thinking about right now. No, for now he's thinking that if he presses the button that he's about to press, the TARDIS will be flung out of the Vortex, into 1970's Earth, and might blow a hole in the universe on top of that. He carefully steers his hand away from that particular (And rather tempting) button, and instead flips a switch that effectively sends the TARDIS on its way to New Earth, the year five billion and fifty-three.

Amazing what just one action can change.

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. . . .

He and Martha walk down one of New New York's alleys, both of them safe and sound, just as he'd promised, making their way back to the TARDIS, when, suddenly, Martha stops dead in her tracks.

"But what did he mean? The Face of Boe." She asks. The Doctor stiffens. He should have been expecting this. Of course Martha had caught on to what the Face of Boe had said.

"I don't know." He said, lying through his teeth all the while, hoping that Martha would catch on and leave the subject alone.

"You've got me." Martha said, not giving in. "Is that what he meant?"

Despite himself, the Doctor smiled slightly and shook his head.

"I don't think so. Sorry."

"Then what?" Martha questioned, stripping the smile right of the Doctor's face.

"Doesn't matter." The Doctor dismissed, forcing his voice to be as light as he can manage. "Back to the TARDIS; Off we go."

He starts towards the TARDIS and hears a slight scraping sound behind him, causing his to turn around and be met with the sight of Martha pulling a rusty chair from the side of the alley, sitting down in it.

Damn.

"Alright, you staying?" He asked, impatience at this entire bloody situation starting to bleed through into his voice.

"Until you talk to me properly, yeah." Martha replied, fixing the Doctor with a gentle yet steely gaze. "He said 'Last of you kind'. What does it mean?"

"It _really_ doesn't matter." The Doctor said, his voice carefully controlled.

"You don't talk! You never say! Why not?!" Asked Martha, leaning forward in the chair a bit, studying the Doctor intently. The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it before he said anything, taking a slight step towards Martha, before he answered.

"...I lied to you." He admits, and a look of surprise flashed across Martha's features as he continued. "'Cos I liked it. I could pretend, _just for a bit,_ I could imagine that they were still alive underneath the burnt orange sky." He paused for a moment. "I'm not just a Time Lord; I'm the last of the Time Lords. The Face of Boe was wrong. There's no one else."

Martha's eyebrows drew together as she continued to watch the Doctor.

"What happened?" She asked.

The Doctor was silent a moment, then grabbed another one of the rusted chairs that seemed to litter the side of the alley. He placed it down, across from Martha's and sat in it, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground.

"There was a war. A Time War. The Last Great Time War. My people fought a race called the Daleks, for the sake of all creation. And they lost. We lost. Everyone lost. They're all gone now. My family. My friends. Even that sky." He glanced up at Martha, expression pained, but at the same time a strange fondness was present as well. "Oh, you should have seen it! That old planet..." He trails off, reminiscing. "The second sun would rise in the South, and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver, when they caught the light, every morning it looked like a forest on fire. When the autumn came, a brilliant glow through the branches..." He continued to speak, recalling every memory he had of his home, losing himself in them.

Loving and hating every moment of it.

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. . . .

The Doctor finished his tale and fell silent, though his dark brown eyes were still speaking volumes. For once, they weren't clouded, they weren't empty or blank. Rather they were bright and full of life and absolutely _shining._

Martha didn't know exactly what had happened, but she could guess. Forcing the Doctor to talk about it had been good for him. Something deep inside of him had healed, that much was obvious.

The Time Lord had told her everything about his planet, Martha realized, except for one thing.

"What was it called?" She asked.

The Doctor grinned widely, and for once the smile wasn't fake either; It was completely, 100% genuine.

"Gallifrey."

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**Thanks for reading! If you could be so kind as to leave a review and tell me what you thought of this on your way out, that would be great! Even of you don't, have a fantastic day and DFTBA!**


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